PART TWO

His test paper was snatched right from the clutches of his fingers.

Daehyun’s head whips up, eyes widening even more than before upon seeing his papers flipped through, his ears registering the snorts of either disbelief or amusement, or both.

“Who the gets a ing D minus for a narrative?” the boy going through his in-class essay results snorts.

“Oh really? It’s a D minus now?” another boy peers at Daehyun’s paper from over his friend’s shoulder before flashing him an impressed look, with a thumbs-up. “Dayum, imbecile, you’re going somewhere! Remember those days when you got C’s?”

The group bursts out laughing. Daehyun, panicked, makes a move to regain his test paper, desperate for his mark to be kept quiet about—but he knew, that sooner or later, the rest of the school’s going to find out he did even worse than the previous assessment, and well… all hell would break loose.

The one holding his marks teasingly dances it out of his reach, lips curled into a snarl-like smirk. And at that moment, right before Daehyun’s very eyes, he takes a hold of the pieces of frail paper and tears it in half. The sound of the particles of the paper cruelly ripped from each other agonisingly slowly weighs down Daehyun’s heart—is this all it’s worth? Is this all he’s worth too?

He doesn’t even register the remainders of the pieces of paper shredding in the boy’s hands until they’re thrown at him.

“Be prepared,” one of them sings, Lion King style.

And they walk off, chortling. Daehyun slowly kneels, beginning to gather up the pieces of his paper, until another voice chases away the nightmares plaguing his thoughts.

“Daehyun? What’re you doing?”

“Nothing!” he shoots up from the floor, lips pressed into a smile, and hands flying behind his back, hiding the shreds of his exam mark.

Youngjae raises a brow at him, studying him for a good few minutes. When Daehyun makes no move to elaborate, or explain himself, because it was horribly obvious Youngjae suspected him with the panicked manner he hid his hands behind his back, Youngjae simply sighs, deciding not to press on the matter.

He pushes up his glasses, and smiles a little at Daehyun. They call him smart for a reason—he had the general gist of what could possibly be happening. But Daehyun didn’t want him to know, obviously, so he’d go along.

Youngjae starts off, walking down the corridor, heading to the cafeteria. And indeed, when he turns his head just the slightest to the side, he catches Daehyun dropping a bundle of paper into a bin behind Youngjae’s back before straightening up.

Youngjae only hopes not confronting him about it is one of his smarter decisions.

 

Daehyun’s running late. He curses a little, catching sight of the time on his watch before sprinting faster, his backpack jiggling on his back.

But, as his luck would have it, the school bus hasn’t left his stop yet.

But just as he runs up to the door, it shuts in his face. Daehyun stands there, thoroughly confused. He raises his hand to shove against the doors, knocking, in futile attempts to get the doors to slide open for him. But the bus, instead of letting him on, decides to start moving.

“No! Hey! Hey—open the door! Excuse me!! Open the door! Let me on!” Daehyun shouts, knocking on the doors with his palm, running beside the bus.

As it begins picking up speed and ‘overtaking’ him, one of the rear windows slide open, and a banana comes flying out, hitting him with a well-aimed thud on the head.

Whooping laughter ensues, Daehyun standing there in the middle of the road, clutching his head, a half-squished banana at his feet, watching in growing despair as the bus speeds out of sight. He could still hear the laughter ringing in his ears.

 

“Never. Again.” Daehyun pants, crumpling to his feet once within school grounds. He picks himself up, hearing the bell for break ring. He curses softly, having just missed two periods jogging to school. He lived a good few kilometres away, and with all the traffic in the morning, it was horrendous.

“Jung Daehyun?”

Daehyun cringes, lifting his face, fully expecting to be met with a teacher who would then give him a lecture on tardiness and then— “Youngjae?”

“Why’re you so late?” the blonde his head to the side, studying him from under his thick glasses.

“I—um… missed my bus.”

At least that was somewhat true.

If this is what the boys told him to ‘prepare’ for, Daehyun definitely didn’t see it coming. Walking all this way to school could definitely rival getting beaten to a ing pulp.

Youngjae nods and walks up the steps towards the cafeteria. Daehyun stares at the back view of his friend for a little, before following him, trying his best to ignore the aching of his muscles with every step he took.

Could he even call Yoo Youngjae a friend?

He was his saviour, he was his idol, Daehyun horribly looked up to him, but a friend? Daehyun’s not sure—isn’t he doing this because he pities him, or because he’s just a really nice person?

 

And as if the morning walk all the way from his street to school wasn’t enough, Daehyun’s currently being dragged by his backpack and hurled onto the pavement.

A boy stands, hands on his hips, on the steps of the school bus Daehyun tried boarding to take him home.

“Are you just really dumb or was it not clear enough? Did anyone give you permission to get on a bus?”

With that, the students crowding around the entrance of the bus returns to their seats, the door shuts infront of his face yet again, and he watches the bus ramble off into the distance, still sitting sprawled on the asphalt.

Looks like he’s up for walking home again—Daehyun glances up at the sky as he slowly stands. It was around dusk, right when the traffic’s at its worst. He sighs, hoisting his bag back onto his back, and embarking on his journey home. At a time like this, just about all public buses would be packed, and it takes forever waiting for another one. He may as well just walk.

Maybe that was the point of this whole thing.

So maybe if he just avoids taking the bus, they’ll leave him alone.

 

---

 

Daehyun fidgets a little, rocking on the heels of his feet, waiting on the front door of a house a few blocks from his.

He could hear a faint ‘coming!’ from within the house, and a few moments later, the wooden door’s flung open to reveal a tall boy, pale hair flying in all directions, large sleepy eyes blinking at him.

“Daehyun hyung?” the boy yawns, opening the door wider and rubbing his eyes, obviously just woken up for school. “Why’re you here so early?”

“Uh… hi, Junhong.” Daehyun says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before smiling at his neighbour a little. “Can I… borrow your skateboard?”

 

Daehyun checks his watch, lifting his leg to balance on the skateboard with both feet. This was much faster, and less tiring too—he could spot the school a few streets ahead, and he’s still over half an hour early.

But all of a sudden, the sense of triumph’s literally knocked out of him. He flies off the skateboard, skidding on the pavement before he’s grabbed by the collar and dragged into a small, side-street, where he’s shoved up against a wall. Someone’s fist comes raining down, landing on every inch of his face they could reach.

When Daehyun raises his hands to attempt to push them away from him, the person’s knee (or is it someone else? From what he could tell, there’s definitely more than one) comes into painful contact with his ribs, jabbing into his solar plexus so hard he had a fleeting taste of his breakfast all over again.

But he doesn’t get the chance to throw up, for someone had flipped him over, slamming him into the cement with a foot to his stomach. And from there, numerous pairs of feet begin assaulting his body, and with his curled up position, he really had a feeling he’s become a soccer ball.

For a moment everything stops, only for someone’s hand to clench around his tie and pull him up by it, constricting his throat and half choking him in the process.

“Look here, Jung Daehyun.” Daehyun doesn’t see anything; it’s already hard enough as it is to crack open his eyes enough to actually see, his face aching and swollen, but his vision’s blurry and refusing to focus.

But when it does, Daehyun’s eyes grow wide, struggling against the boy who held him down, only to be elbowed in the side of his head, falling limp to the ground again. But the boy yanks him back up, enough for him to see what’s going on.

There were three more guys, one twirling a hammer in one hand, one leaning against a wall of the alley, tapping his foot on the driveway, and the third holding Junhong’s skateboard.

Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on.

“No!” he cries, struggling against the grip on him, before the boy holding on him takes a fistful of his dark brown hair and slams his head into the ground.

Daehyun groans, vision completely blanking out for a good few moments before forcing himself to sit up again, just in time to watch as the boy with the hammer slams it down in the centre of the skateboard.

“NO!” he cries again, eyes flying from the visible crack in the wood of the skateboard to the boy who resumes twirling his hammer. “NO! That’s my friend’s skateboard!!”

Apparently everyone’s gone deaf, or thought he was bluffing—not many people believe Daehyun has friends.

“Shut the up!” the boy holding him down snarls, slamming his fist into his jaw again, before holding out his hand. Daehyun blindly fumbles around in his pocket, emptying his wallet on the boy’s outstretched palm, hoping with everything he has they’d at least leave Junhong’s skateboard alone…

But the second boy then walks ridiculously casually up to the dented skateboard as if he wasn’t just about to break it, before stepping onto it. It takes three ollies, three flips of the smashed piece of wood and wheels over and over onto the cement pavement for it to split down the middle. The boy stands on one end of it, the other end sticking up at an angle.

The third boy stares Daehyun straight into the face, before taking a hold of the tail of the deck, and snapping it cleanly in two.

Daehyun’s eyes were wide open, jaw dropped in horror. Junhong…

Daehyun doesn’t even register the boy with the hammer slamming down, battering the wood a few more times, but he does watch in utter hopelessness when the last boy grabbed the pieces of the former skateboard and hurled them onto the road.

Daehyun, at long last, shoves the boy off him, scrambling to his feet. But even before he could take another step, a truck comes along, flattening the remains of his neighbour’s skateboard. Daehyun staggers, eyes impossibly wide in disbelief.

“You’re obviously much too dumb to get the message,” a voice drawls, the others snickering at this. “And because of your stupidity, you cost your friend a skateboard.”

The boy who held him down mock sighs, shakes his head in fake pity/disappointment before shoving his hands neatly in his pocket and strolling out of the alleyway with his friends trailing behind him. The one with the hammer gives Daehyun a good knock on the head as he passes.

He could feel the familiar drip of warm, thick liquid down his face from his temple, and taste a metallic tang on his tongue and lips, but he runs forward, checking the road for cars before taking the now unrecognisable remains of Junhong’s skateboard into his hands.

 

 

Daehyun’s stomach rumbles.

He pouts, snuggling deeper into his jacket. He’s hungry, really hungry.

The boys from earlier had taken his lunch money, but the skateboard was still broken in the end.

Daehyun sighs, feeling a headache coming on just at the thought of confronting Junhong later. He’d have to break it to him, sooner or later.

He sighs again before slowly shuffling in the cafeteria. And it’s like a switch was ; the instant he stepped foot inside the doors of the cafeteria, he’s pelted with various disgusting smelling things.

Daring to crack an eye open, he finds food scraps littering the floor at his feet, some pieces of rotten food still hanging on his uniform. Someone walks out from behind the counter of the kitchens holding a trash bin in his hands and without warning, hurls its contents at Daehyun.

This is all food, Daehyun cries mentally. The place bursts out in laughter. He’s starving, having had little to no breakfast because he couldn’t catch the bus and no lunch money, there’s food physically thrown at him, and he couldn’t eat it.

He’s staring at the mounting scraps of spoiled food at his feet, unconsciously kneeling, fingers reaching out. Much to the cheers and whistles of everyone else, Daehyun’s actually moving to pick up some of that food.

All of a sudden, instead of the dirty pieces of food, Daehyun’s vision’s suddenly filled with a tray of a perfectly cooked meal, still steaming and still warm. He only stares blankly at the tray of food shoved under his nose, blinking. It’s just a fragment of my imagination, Daehyun sighs, rubbing his eyes. I’m too hungry—it’ll disappear soon, and—

“Take that, and get up.”

Daehyun’s head whips up at the sound of the familiar voice.

Youngjae flicks him on the forehead. Daehyun gasps, a hand flying up to where he got hit, staring at Youngjae with rounded eyes and a slack jaw.

“Is that enough to ensure you aren’t dreaming?”

Daehyun tears his eyes away from Youngjae and down to the food still held infront of his face.

“Take that,” Youngjae repeats irritably, “and come on.”

Daehyun’s shaking hands slowly reach for the tray, almost dropping it when Youngjae lets go, still unable to believe it’s actually real, the weight of all the food overwhelming. Youngjae takes a hold of his wrist, pulling him up to a standing position before dragging him to a corner of the cafeteria.

Youngjae sets his own stuff down on a small table and sits, motioning for Daehyun to do the same in the spot opposite him.

Daehyun, completely blanked, simply obeys, still with that look of utter disbelief on his face.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?”

Daehyun shifts his wide eyes onto Youngjae, before staring back down at his food as if still unsure whether or not it’ll disappear the next moment. “Is this really for me?”

“…I just asked you to eat.”

Daehyun looks up, meeting Youngjae’s rather exasperated expression, and laughs.

Youngjae stares, wondering why he finds Daehyun’s laugh so…refreshing, before realising that it’s infact the first time he’s ever heard him laugh. He smiles a little himself, just watching Daehyun radiating happiness as he shoves spoonful after spoonful down his throat.

 

“What the ?” a few boys a few tables down marvel, staring at the scene of the two boys, one covered in dirty trash and wolfing down food and the other simply staring at him, softly smiling.

It’s one thing Yoo Youngjae does something about the bullying; he usually simply avoids everything to do with it, not giving half a about the other victims. And it’s another thing Yoo Youngjae’s smiling.

In that moment, Youngjae watching Daehyun chew contentedly, giving small hums of approval, that he decides this precious boy doesn’t deserve any more thrown at him.

 

---

 

“Oh Daehyun-hyung!” Junhong peers around him, eyes searching. “Where’s—?”

“I’m so sorry Junhong-ah!” Daehyun gushes, eyes tightly shut in guilt. “It’s… I…” he opens his eyes only to find Junhong’s large, curious eyes on him. “I-it… I-I b-broke i-it…”

The silence is terrifying. Daehyun doesn’t dare look up at his neighbour.

“You what?”

Daehyun winces. “I-I’m s-so s—”

A fist collides painfully against Daehyun’s cheek.

He flies backwards, rolling a few times along the cobbled pavement before coming to a stop at his neighbour’s metal gates. Daehyun groans before he’s grabbed by the collar and slammed into the gates.

He could feel Junhong shaking, the grip on Daehyun’s collar suffocating.

Daehyun ducks his head shamefully, before Junhong’s shaking him. “You c-can beat me up…” he whispers, biting the inside of his bottom lip, drowning in self-pity.

But instead, Junhong flings him once more against the metal gates of his home and releases him. For a while, the two of them just stand there, Junhong still trying to control his breathing while Daehyun stands infront of him, head bowed.

“The… My hyung gave me that skateboard.” Junhong says quietly.

Daehyun only cringes, clenching his jaw.

Without another word, Junhong turns away from him to head back up the steps of his house, leaving Daehyun to see himself out.

 

---

 

Youngjae can’t find Daehyun.

How long has he been missing for? He can’t remember how long he’s spent running around the school. All he knows is that he didn’t see him at break, and students are laughing.

He immediately feels bad, for automatically relating anything of their amusement to his friend’s demise, but when he didn’t even catch a shadow of the other boy at lunch, his mind jumped straight down the gutter.

“Dude,” Youngjae’s shoved to the right, just managing to catch himself before falling. The boy he accidentally bumped into, being too busy trying to scan the crowds for a certain mop of dark brown messy hair instead of minding his way, shoots him an unamused glare. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry,” Youngjae even bows a little. The boy looks much more than faintly surprised; Yoo Youngjae, the isolated, unfriendly guy who most students believe lacks in manners and social skills, being polite? But Youngjae had more than an apology on the tip of his tongue. He grabs the boy’s arm before he could walk off. “Sorry—have you happened to have seen Jung Daehyun-?”

“Yeah—why?” the boy stares at him, eyes narrowed scrutinisingly.

“I… Well, with all this commotion, I was just wondering if something’s happening again.” Youngjae says slowly, staring down the boy.

He valued Daehyun—he really did. The boy’s precious—but Youngjae can’t just be completely selfless. His own reputation in the hierarchy of this school was much too precariously balanced—if he was to tip off, then he wouldn’t be able to help Daehyun at all. And Daehyun needs him.

“Oh, yeah,” the boy shrugs, yanking his arm out of Youngjae’s grip. “I think they’re still in Room 210—”

“Thanks.” Youngjae takes off running, not caring if he could practically feel the random boy’s queer stare on his back, or if room 210 was on the top floor of the damn building and he’d have to run up two flights of stairs. Daehyun’s up there, and he’s not alone.

He promised himself he’d never let them hurt Daehyun again. Youngjae curses, ripping loose his tie as he sprints up three stairs at once, lungs dying. He can’t help but want to kick himself at how quickly this promise shattered.

 

Two guys had Daehyun shoved up against the wall, securely holding onto his arms. There was a third guy, twirling a stapler in his hands.

Daehyun eyes the thing, breathing irregular from both fear and the struggle earlier that resulted in him pinned against the wall by the arms. When the boy with the stapler steps closer, Daehyun begins thrashing, screaming, only for one of the boys restraining him to clamp his hand over Daehyun’s mouth, stilling his head. Daehyun heaves, eyes wide as the third boy leans in close, smirking.

“Scared?” he whispers. “Great. Let’s not keep him waiting,” the other two guffaw, and he turns back to stare Daehyun in the eye. “Because we’re gonna take a while.”

And like that, he pries open the stapler and lowers it to Daehyun’s palm against the wall, with the other boy restraining his wrist. The boy with the stapler flattens Daehyun’s hand, grabbing his fingers, before Daehyun could try closing his fist, and exposes Daehyun’s pale palm to the metal of the staples.

He lowers the sharp tip of the staples to Daehyun’s skin, letting it slowly sink into his flesh.

Daehyun was silently screaming, straining against the two boys, squeezing his eyes tight shut. Being stapled was bad enough, of course they wouldn’t let him have it fast and painless. If they were going to drive a metal staple through his flesh, they’ll do it agonisingly slowly.

All of a sudden the third boy was flung right off Daehyun, the stapler ripped out of his hand. Daehyun’s eyes fly open at the sheer force, just in time to witness a seething Youngjae hurling the offending stapler out the window.

The boy who had previously held the stapler whips his head back at Youngjae, who was moving towards Daehyun. “You ,” he snarls under his breath, and the next thing all three boys had pounced on Youngjae.

Daehyun, despite the horrid aching pain in his hand, watches, horrified, as Youngjae takes blow after blow, sprawled on the ground. The entire group of boys engulfs Youngjae, but even then, he still doesn’t hear a single cry of pain.

That seems to only fire them up, only raining more hits on every inch of Youngjae’s body. Youngjae’s lying on the floor, and remains in that position when the boys seem to have had enough of him.

“Youngjae?” Daehyun whispers, his voice catching in his throat when the beating stops.

The group of boys straighten their uniforms, strolling past Daehyun. One of them whisper a ‘gay’ in his direction, while another kicks him in the shoulder as they pass, but Daehyun doesn’t feel anything, eyes trained only on Youngjae’s motionless body.

“Youngjae?” he repeats once they’ve rounded a corner and out of sight. “Youngjae! Youngjae!”

He hurries towards him, fear shooting through every inch of his body that he might’ve just let them take away his only friend.

Youngjae’s pretty pale skin’s now littered with splatters of purple and red, eyes swollen and bruised. Daehyun can’t tell whether the blood on his face is from his nose or his lips, or maybe both. His uniform shirt’s ripped, and Youngjae’s usual neat combed blonde hair is almost unrecognisable.

Without wasting another precious second, Daehyun scoops his limp form up into his arms, taking off at a run for the infirmary.

 

 

“Daehyun?” The nurse looks up, hearing her door burst open and slam on the wall in the middle of her coffee break. “Daehyun what did they do to you now??” She puts down her mug, making her way out of her office, only to stop in her tracks.

“It’s not me this time.” Daehyun whispers, gently lowering Youngjae onto a sterile while bed. He looks up, large eyes glistening, his voice cracking as he speaks. “Please, please, help him—he’s the only one I’ve got… this is all my fault, I—”

“Stories come later.” She interrupts, already flying around her supplies cabinets, grabbing her first-aid kit, bottles of antiseptic and disinfectant, and extra bags of cotton bandages, rushing to Youngjae’s bed. Daehyun’s tears almost overflow with gratitude.

He couldn’t be any more touched—how she prioritises Youngjae, how she doesn’t question Daehyun and Youngjae’s relationship, and even more how she doesn’t inquire about how Youngjae, star student, turned up at her office like this.

“You can go now Daehyun.”

Daehyun looks up, almost panicked. Leave? Leave Youngjae here, all alone? “But I—”

“He’ll be fine. He needs rest and space.”

 

---

 

Daehyun kicks a little pebble, not even watching it bounce off the sidewalk. He has his head hung low, worrying his lip between his teeth until he could taste blood

Daehyun doesn’t know what he’d do if anything, anything, happened to Youngjae.

I’m so stupid, he scowls, hitting himself upside the head. If it wasn’t because of me, Youngjae wouldn’t be lying there, unconscious, his perfect face bloody and—

Daehyun pauses at the sound of a metal gate swinging open just beside him. He looks up, to recognise Junhong’s house number, and cringes.

First Junhong, now Youngjae. They didn’t deserve to be pulled under because of me. Junhong lost his skateboard because of my carelessness, and Youn—

Daehyun was hurriedly walking past Junhong’s house before the boy’s familiar voice echoes down the street, calling to him.

“Daehyun-hyung!”

Junhong had opened the gate, noticing his neighbour’s figure rounding the corner, with ever mind to apologise for shoving him the other day, but when Daehyun turns, eyes red and puffy from crying all the way back from school, and a bruise he didn’t bother covering up on his cheek, Junhong frowns.

He steps out of his gate and onto the pathway. “Hyung, what’s wrong? I—” Junhong walks up to Daehyun and grabs his hand, before Daehyun yelps, quickly pulling it away.

Only then do both of them realise the puncture marks on Daehyun’s hands.

“Hyung!” Junhong exclaims, shocked. “What in the world happened to you??”

Daehyun himself was shocked, to say the least. He had completely forgotten about the stapler thing, bent over about Youngjae that he never noticed the pain until Junhong accidently touched it, the wound searing.

Junhong frowns again, before gently taking Daehyun’s other hand. “Come on—I think we need a talk.”

 

Junhong had fetched his first aid kit from his house, and Daehyun was now seated on the wooden park bench of the loyal park, Junhong kneeling infront of him, gingerly disinfecting and bandaging the stapler wounds. They weren’t too deep, but from Daehyun still hissing and wincing at every touch, Junhong cringes anyway.

“You didn’t have to,” Daehyun croaks out, watching Junhong pack everything back into his kit.

“It was the least I could do.” Junhong mumbles back, standing up to sit down on the bench next to Daehyun. “Just think of that as… as my apology.” He lowers his head. “For last time.”

“No, no, no,” Daehyun instantly shakes his head. “It was me, I shouldn—”

“That’s not what I mean, hyung.”

Daehyun stares at him.

“I don’t believe you’d manage to break something like a skateboard. And I don’t believe you’d do that.” Junhong glances at the purpling bruise on Daehyun’s cheek, where the boys earlier had punched him to make him stay still, and the fresh bandage on Daehyun’s hand. “What happened?”

Daehyun quickly looks away from his large, blinking expectant eyes. “N-nothing,” he lies. “I… uh…”

“Bull nothing happened.” Junhong leans back on the wooden backrest of the bench. “We have all evening.”

Daehyun sighs.

 

---

 

Youngjae squints, before blinking his eyes open. The lights from the ceiling were a warm, soft yellow, easily accepted by his eyes as they wander around the room, wondering where he was taken to. The last thing he remembers is passing out with a punch to the head, but upon running his eyes through the room, he recognises it to must be the nurse’s office, even if he’s never been here before.

His suspicions are confirmed when the nurse exits her office, and Youngjae tries to sit up, only for her to push him back down.

To his own surprise, the first thing he croaks out is, “Where’s Daehyun?”

She smiles, re-arranging his blankets. “I told him to leave you to rest.” Noticing his curious gaze, she fills him up. “He brought you here panting and out of breath and panicky, and you were out like a light bulb. I cleaned you up a bit, and we left you to sleep.”

“Thank you.” Youngjae whispers. Not only for what she’s done as her job as a nurse, but for not immediately asking. “How long did I sleep for?”

“A few hours. It’s half past five.”

Youngjae nods, relaxing his tense back.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Youngjae sighs. “I… they…” Youngjae sighs again. “They hate me too,” he opts for instead of the obvious, I’m too weak so they beat me up.

She nods once. “You’ve always been top of the school, it’s no wonder they do.”

Youngjae nods, humming. It’s comfortable here with her, and she doesn’t forcefully pry—it almost feels like there’s finally someone to confide in…

“For them, it must be frustrating,” Youngjae allows a tiny smile graze his lips. “That no matter how much they pay, they don’t get that top spot.” He lowers his head, playing with his long fingers. “They don’t have any idea of how many times I’ve fallen and had to keep getting up.”

The rich students (practically everyone) pay for their outstandings. The school doesn’t complain—they get more money, and a good reputation that comes with it. It must be from the last shred of dignity left of the teachers, for they support Youngjae’s wholly natural scores all the way, letting him maintain his spot as the top of the school no matter what price the other kids pay. Youngjae’s scoring full marks in everything, without using money. The nurse looks at him properly for the first time. He’s never really gone up to the infirmary before, and she rarely leaves her office. She could see why the rest of the staff respects this boy.

“In the beginning, I admit it was hard,” Youngjae mumbles. “When everyone said I would eventually fail. Even if it was upsetting, I had to hold it all in. I had to fight and win all those self-battles so that no matter what anyone says, I’d never break down… I’d never kneel at someone’s feet.”

Youngjae thinks back to getting beaten up, how he was lying on his back on the carpet while the three boys towered above him. How low had he stooped?

But, even so… “Is Daehyun at least okay?”

“He’s fine,” the nurse reassures, smiling. “Not hurt. Just worried about you.”

Youngjae smiles, relieved. “I guess it’s worth it,” he mumbles aloud, flashing her a last smile. “I’ll be going now.”

Youngjae slings his backpack over his shoulder and makes his way down the stairs and to the main gates of the school.

In the beginning, his resolve simply came from his pure desire to proving all those people wrong. And now that’s he’s come so far, now that he’s finally risen to the top, he’s never going to back down. Daehyun too, deserves just as much as he does.

 

---

 

It was getting dark, already at sunset, but Junhong showed no signs of getting up and leaving, so Daehyun doesn’t suggest it.

“Aren’t you glad you don’t go to this school?” Daehyun mutters bitterly.

Junhong doesn’t look at him. The boy had fortunately been enrolled in another local high school.

Daehyun sighs. “But it’s somewhat getting better.”

Junhong turns to him.

“Don’t look so sorry for me,” Daehyun chuckles, though his tone was a little empty. After a pause, he continues. “There’s this boy… he’s the top of the school. He’s really nice to me. I… I don’t even know if we’re friends, though.” He forces a little smile. “I don’t even know anymore.” He sighs, leaning back.

“Well, if he’s nice to you when everyone else isn’t, why don’t you think he’s your friend?”

“He’s risking way too much. He told me before that… ‘they hate him too’…”

Junhong’s lips form a little ‘o’.

“But I remember...” Daehyun casts his eyes back to the recent cafeteria incident. “Even though it wasn’t even that bad at the time, people were just throwing spoilt food at me and it’s not like it physically hurt, you know when you’re just left standing there in the middle of the place looking like a scrawny thing with people laughing at you, you just end up thinking why the duck you’re so embarrassing, you know? The point wasn’t to hurt—just to humiliate. But even then,” Daehyun sighs (dreamily, according to Junhong). “Youngjae… even though it wasn’t much, I was just desperate to escape the humiliation, you know, and by opening up a seat, and even providing me with a full meal, he did that for me.”

The two of them were silent for a very long time, Daehyun lost in thought, and Junhong not knowing what to say.

“Well,” he finally speaks up, clearing his throat. “I can’t help you hyung, but you’ve just got to wait it out, ‘till graduation, you know?” he says quietly.

Daehyun looks at him, and Junhong’s afraid he’s offended him, but Daehyun stays silent, so he opts to speak up again.

“At least now you’ve got someone to wait with you.”

 

---

 

“Whoooo!”

Daehyun stands there, eyes shut tight, one hand still gripping the door knob.

He’d even checked through the classroom window if it was safe for him to enter—but apparently the students have upgraded their tactics.

When he finally opens his eyes, wiping his face and catching sight of his arms and uniform, he realises it had not been a bucket of water balanced on the top of the door that had crashed upon him when he pushed it open.

His mouth was open, the bucket that had tumbled on his head had shocked him, but upon the horrid taste of plastic on his tongue, he instantly spits out whatever of the sticky acrylic that’d dripped into his mouth, gagging.

The class was ringing in laughter and cheers, students high-fiving each other, pointing and laughing.

Daehyun was coated from head to toe in dripping pink paint.

“GAY!” someone shouts, before the rest of the class resume to laughing at his pitiful state.

The paint was drying—he could feel it on his skin. It was clenching around his skin, on his arms, his face, his lips, and with a raise of his hand, he feels it drenching his hair too. His uniform is disgusting—his shirt was originally white, and nicely ironed. It was now pressing against his scrawny form, and a horrendous shade of pink.

He was just standing there, in the doorway of his classroom, with the kids laughing at him, before he feels a pair of hands grip onto his arm and tug him away.

Youngjae drags him to the bathroom and sits him down on a toilet seat. He goes off for a little, and Daehyun hears the water running, before he comes back with wet tissues and starts on wiping off the fast-drying paint.

“Damn the acrylic,” Youngjae hisses under his breath.

It’s been a few days since the day with the staple, and the blood on Youngjae’s lip had dried at least. He still covers up his bruises with concealer though. And Daehyun still blames himself.

After finally managing Daehyun’s face, Youngjae stands him up, getting him to wash his hands while Youngjae scrubbed the paint off his arms. Daehyun stays completely silent, letting Youngjae shove his hair under the tap before trying to clean the paint out of his hair.

Daehyun takes a good look at Youngjae—he was reaching up, with Daehyun slightly taller than him, and the disgusting paint on Daehyun’s clothes were rubbing onto Youngjae’s perfect white shirt. So all of a sudden, Daehyun shoves Youngjae away. Youngjae, too busy cleaning Daehyun up, had dirtied his own neat uniform, and Daehyun can’t help but feel ty.

Youngjae doesn’t think twice about the push, but begins taking off his shirt. “I brought a jumper today, so you can just wear my shirt inside-out and I’ll wear my jumper without a shirt and—”

Daehyun, to Youngjae’s utter surprise, storms out of the bathroom, yelling, “I don’t need you to babysit me!”

 

Daehyun doesn’t go to the cafeteria where he knows Youngjae will be waiting for him at lunch. Who knows what will happen if he hangs around him?

Daehyun finds himself at a random flight of stairs nestled next to the janitor’s office. Not really knowing what to do, he just slumps down on the bottom step, laying his face on top of his folded arms on his knees. He feels so lost without Youngjae.

I’m such a ing burden. He thinks in a rather subconsciously childish tone. His mind chose that precise moment to shower him with images of Youngjae lying on that too-clean, white bed, the nurse dabbing at his cuts and wiping the blood off his face. Daehyun cringes.

Then his mind takes him back to the bathroom just then, before lunch, and the paint incident. Daehyun looks down at himself. His clothes are still disgustingly pink, and would’ve been the biggest joke of the week if he had gone to the cafeteria. But he feels his hair before his fingers move down to his face, and his eyes land on his hands. Youngjae had cleaned him up.

“I brought a jumper today, so you can just wear my shirt inside-out and I’ll wear my jumper without a shirt,” Youngjae’s voice echoes in his head. He buries his face deeper into the crook of his elbow.

Why’s he so damn nice? Why does he do this for him? It would’ve been so much easier to hate him if he was just like everyone else. But that’s the problem.

“Now you’ve got someone to wait with you,” he remembers Junhong saying.

But no matter how hard Daehyun thinks about everything, he can’t help but run into the same dead-end every time—that Youngjae’s life would be a load easier if he hadn’t stepped in it.

Daehyun remembers how he noticed the concealer on Youngjae’s face and arms when he looked closer and winces again. At least he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

 

---

 

That day, Daehyun left school early, Youngjae not even getting a glimpse of him.

He calmed himself down, telling him he’d at least see Daehyun after the weekends back at school. Hopefully that would be enough time for Daehyun to chill about whatever he was on about.

“I don’t need you to babysit me!”

Daehyun’s words still ring loud and clear in Youngjae’s mind as he stares up at his ceiling, lying on his bed on Sunday morning. He stayed in his room all of the day before, trying to work out what Daehyun meant. He almost didn’t get a wink of sleep, but somehow still got up at his usual 7:30 AM alarm, and is now back to the position he’s gotten comfortable in over this weekend.

Without him noticing, he began to think back to all the times they’ve been together, Daehyun laughing at something he said, or Daehyun happily stuffing himself with food, or Daehyun humming quietly as they browsed the school library together on very rare occasions since it’s always empty at lunch with everyone eating outside—

Youngjae sighs and sits up.

He misses Daehyun.

What’s more, it’s really driving him insane, not seeing him for two days in a row and not knowing if he’s the reason Daehyun’s upset.

Even if the paint incident pissed him off, Daehyun’s never the type to blow up in his face… he must’ve done something wrong…

Youngjae flicks his long blonde bangs out of his eyes and begins nibbling on his bottom lip. He’s usually not so stressed about not seeing Daehyun for two days, they’ve already started hanging out for a while, over a month. It’s the possibility that he could’ve offended him that Youngjae pales at.

There’s a small nagging voice at the back of his head, snickering at him. You’ve survived this long without a single soul in the world caring about you… and all of a sudden because of this pitiful boy, you’re a damsel in distress?

“Eugh.” Youngjae huffs, planting face-first back down into his mountain of pillows and messy blankets.

Just wait one more day, Youngjae. One more day, and you’ll see him again.

 

---

 

Youngjae doesn’t.

Come Monday, and Daehyun’s not here. Daehyun’s not at school.

Youngjae’s beside himself, freaking out. Daehyun doesn’t have a phone, even if he did Youngjae doesn’t have his number—what if something’s horribly wrong? What if someone beat him up again? What if—

“Hey have you seen Jung Daehyun today?” he asks the seventeenth person he sees in the Maths corridor at break. And like all the others, they shake their head and walk off, leaving Youngjae to drown in the imaginary tank of worry, mixed in with half a litre of panic.

Youngjae’s left to stabbing his notebook through the next two periods, eyeing the clock. Maybe Daehyun has a doctor’s check-up…

But come lunch time, and no Daehyun.

Youngjae, having scanned the cafeteria for five minutes then spent the next thirty minutes raking every inch of the school, finds himself striding towards the front office.

He smiles sweetly at the young lady behind the counter, who looks as if she’s new. “Hi, I’m Jung Daehyun’s classmate, and he’s absent today and asked me to fetch his Maths exam papers for him. Could I please know his address?”

 

Youngjae knocks. There’s no response, so he knocks again, doorbell and knocker and all. Clicking his tongue in anxiety, he lets the intelligence in him take over. If Daehyun’s parents aren’t home…

He begins searching the flower pots, the shoes by the door and under the door mat, before finally pulling out the spare key from beneath a loose brick that acted as a step for the front door. Triumphant, Youngjae invites himself in. If Daehyun isn’t at home, he’s really gonna be at a loss.

Youngjae makes sure not to touch anything, having placed the key back where he found it, and taken his shoes off outside. He only peeks inside every room on the first floor, before finally deciding to just take a short glimpse around the bedrooms and hopefully find—

“Daehyun!” Youngjae gasps.

Said boy had collapsed on his desk, papers scattered everywhere, and looking pretty much lifeless.

“Daehyun! Daehyun, what happened? What’re you doing? Hey, hey wake up!” Youngjae runs into Daehyun’s room, coming to a stop beside Daehyun’s chair and desk, pulling Daehyun upright. The boy was unconscious, and the moment Youngjae tries to shake him awake and laid his hands on his skin, his fingers retreat. “Oh my god Daehyun,” he breathes, feeling his forehead.

He instantly grabs him and with much effort, hoists him up. Thank god Daehyun’s room is small, and Youngjae didn’t need to travel too far with the dead weight to dump him unceremoniously on his bed. Daehyun’s breathing was ragged, and he was sweating ridiculously profusely considering autumn’s just rolling in. And based on Youngjae’s perceptions and his touch sense, Daehyun’s skin is burning and is having a fever.

Youngjae pulls out the thinnest blanket he could find on Daehyun’s pig-sty-style bed, only draping that over his body.

Daehyun shivers a little, and Youngjae immediately moves to close the window, but leaving the door open. No wonder, Youngjae shakes his head. Stupid, didn’t even know to close the window. The window was directly above Daehyun’s desk. He’s been sleeping on his desk, the cold outside air would’ve been hitting directly on the top of his head.

He hears a whimper, Daehyun desperately pulling the blanket around him. “I-it’s c-cold.”

“Ssh,” Youngjae makes his way back over to the bed, running his fingers through Daehyun’s sweat-slicked hair. “It’ll all be over soon.”

He spends the rest of the day making trips to and from the bathroom, with a small basin of cold water by Daehyun’s bedside, and occasionally changing the water once in a while. In between gently washing his skin and using a small towel to cool his face and arms, Youngjae would observe the room when he actually takes his eyes off Daehyun, and even go to stack some of Daehyun’s sheets of paper on his desk and put some of the clothes strewn on the floor back into the closet.

Youngjae sighs again, going over his routine of drenching the face towel in the cold water before squeezing it, then dampening Daehyun’s forehead and face before wiping down his arms and legs. His eyes travel up to Daehyun’s face and before knowing what he was doing, he reaches up, his fingers smoothening out the frown on Daehyun’s brows. He had cooled down a fair bit.

Youngjae eyes the room yet again. He doesn’t have much to do, but he can’t say he’s bored. He doesn’t want to go and get medicine or something and leave Daehyun in the house by himself—what if he gets worse? And he doesn’t want to use the kitchen to make him some soup when he isn’t invited to. His fever’s almost down anyways. So all Youngjae really does other than look after Daehyun is stare at his room, and occasionally clean a little bit if his OCD acts up about something particularly out of place.

Daehyun’s bed is in the far right corner, furthest from the door, while the window is on the wall directly to the left when you walk in, with his slightly messy desk directly beneath it. Youngjae doesn’t want to clean up his desk in case Daehyun gets even more mad if something goes missing. So all he did was arrange all the stray pieces of paper on the desktop into a neat pile in the centre of the table. Daehyun’s closet stands at the foot of his bed, and there really isn’t much more to his room. It’s painted a light grey that isn’t too dark to be drab and isn’t too light to be obnoxiously bright when the sun streams in. Youngjae smiles.

He turns back to Daehyun, thinking about how he found him hunched over on his desk, passed out. “What were you even doing that got you in such deep anyways?” he chuckles lowly, brushing Daehyun’s bangs to the side, the towel resting on his forehead. Catching sight of it, Youngjae takes it off, since it’s no longer cool from Daehyun’s warm skin and soaks it through again. “Were you studying that hard? Did you have a test?”

Suddenly Youngjae pales. He stares down at his watch. 4 pm. Ah, time flew. School’s over. And Youngjae had an apparently very important extension physics exam that last period that he had missed. .

“Youngjae?”

Youngjae quickly turns back to Daehyun, seeing him stir, and smiles softly, taking the towel and dabbing the refreshingly cold water on Daehyun’s forehead again, smoothing back his bangs.

Daehyun sighs contentedly, the suffocating, burning yet freezing feeling already much better. He cracks his swollen eyes open, catching sight of Youngjae’s peaceful expression as he goes through his washing routine again. The cold fabric felt so good against his burning skin. He sighs again, before his mind finally started working. He shoots up before Youngjae presses him back down to lie down again, looking disapproving.

“My test!” Daehyun yelps, before erupting in a bout of coughing. Youngjae clicks his tongue. “Oh no, no, no,” he whines. “What time is it??”

“4:10.”

“!” Daehyun tries springing out of bed again, only for Youngjae to crawl on top of him, pinning him down.

“What good do you think going to school now will do? School ended 40 minutes ago. That’s sufficient time for the teachers to leave and for the janitors to begin sweeping up.” Daehyun groans resignedly, slumping back into his mattress. “Stay put, mister.”

“Wait.” His head snaps back up. “How did you know I was here? How did you get in my house? Why—”

“Shush, gosh, one at a time!” Youngjae calmly seats himself on the edge of Daehyun’s bed. “Firstly, you obviously didn’t come to school,” Daehyun winces at the mention of missing that important test he had stayed up all weekend studying for. “So I came looking for you. I got your address from the front desk, and you might want to put your spare key somewhere less obvious.”

“So you basically broke into my house and conducted a search party. Except with a key.”

“No need to phrase it like that,” Youngjae huffs, feigning offense and getting up and leave only for Daehyun to laugh softly and pull him back with a tug on his wrist.

After the temporary calm after joking around, Daehyun feels the despair weigh down on him again. He studied so long, so hard. And now he missed it because he fell asleep. And now he’s stuck here, sick.

Youngjae watches the tears gather in Daehyun’s eyes and he really couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t tell him it’ll be okay, because he knows it won’t be. The entire student population will take this opportunity to throw that big fat zero in Daehyun’s face and—oh god he’s crying.

Youngjae wordlessly envelopes him in his arms. “Don’t ever break,” he whispers into his ear, feeling Daehyun silently sob in both self-hate and fear into his shoulder. “Don’t ever give up. There’s always next time—it’s never too late to pick yourself up. Don’t you ever fall down.”

He waits for Daehyun to calm down in silence, but he doesn’t stop rubbing his back. “Don’t worry, I stay with you tomorrow.”

Daehyun looks at Youngjae, his watery eyes searching Youngjae’s beautiful, beautiful face, eyes still catching on the splotches of concealer, and he wants to tell him no, he wants to prevent him from getting hurt again because of him, but he finds himself nodding, burying himself back into Youngjae’s chest. It’s selfish, and Daehyun hates himself for bringing Youngjae in this too, but his warmth, even if Daehyun’s having a fever, makes his heart race.

 

---

 

Youngjae’s teacher shakes her head in disappointment, handing Youngjae his completely blank test paper before turning her back to him and walking back to the front of the classroom.

Youngjae only gets a glimpse of the completely blank paper and the great, angry red zero at the top right hand corner of the page before it’s snatched from under his nose, and the other boys in the class begin guffawing stupidly at his failure behind him. But Youngjae holds his head high, even as he hears camera snaps around the entire room.

He could even see out of the corner of his eye his humiliating test paper passed around the room, everyone pulling out their cameras, snapping it down for “historical records”—the day Yoo Youngjae scored a big fat zero.

They hate him too. And at long, long last, a chance emerges for the rest of the student population to shun the genius, the brain of the school.

But if Youngjae had thought he had gotten hell for it, he found Daehyun in a much worse state.

He found him sniffling in a cubicle at lunch, his uniform torn and apparently some of his hair ripped off with his head in his hands. When he finally raises his head, after ten minutes more of his crying and blatant refusing, Youngjae sees the giant ‘0’ written in red marker all over his face.

Daehyun quickly hides his face again. “See? It’s ugly!”

“Bull it’s ugly. Come on, let’s wash that off.”

After a long lunch time of coaxing again, when Daehyun finally seemed to be somewhat livelier, the moment they make their way together to their last period classes, every single student they meet in the hallways would do the ‘L’ for loser sign on their foreheads at the two of them.

Youngjae’s grip on Daehyun’s shoulder tightens, giving him a reassuring pat before dropping him off at his class.

It was only then, hearing the mockings about the ‘zero couple’ that Daehyun realises the deep Youngjae’s in too, because of him. But after the guilt slightly subsides half way into his last period, the realisation dawns on him. It’s not like he forced Youngjae to stay with him all of yesterday. He instantly brightens at the simple thought that Youngjae cares.

He beats himself up for even thinking about pushing him away, because Youngjae cares.

 

---

 

“So how about it?” Youngjae leans against the wall, the wind ruffling through his perfect blonde hair, smiling softly at Daehyun. “I tutor you in Maths and English every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, and every other day Science, History and Geography?”

Daehyun grins. He’s learnt to stop thinking he’s a burden, thanks to Youngjae’s long, long lectures on that he does all this for Daehyun because he wants to, and he’s learnt to accept Youngjae’s inviting warmth.

Every night he remembers the words Youngjae had whispered to him the day he was sick—“Don’t ever break; Don’t ever give up. Don’t you ever fall down.” He’s already fallen down hundreds of times, but doesn’t stop him from keep getting up.

“Okay!” he pipes, Youngjae laughing softly at his eagerness. It’ll mean more time together, especially on the weekends. Daehyun’s excited.

Now, no matter what anyone’s saying, because of course it’s not going to stop, we became one.

Youngjae turns around to lean on the railing of the rooftop, the same place he had found Daehyun bloody and beaten up seemingly so long ago, and shouts at the top of his lungs, “We will fly!” Daehyun was confused at first, before he continued. “Even if you trample our wings in the darkness, we’ll fly higher than all of you douchebags! Watch and see if you can break us!” he turns back to Daehyun with a wild, boyish grin.

If Daehyun doesn’t know better, he would’ve been utterly shocked. This Youngjae could not have been further from the Youngjae he initially knew, and the Youngjae the rest of the world still knows. He could feel a beautiful flower blooming somewhere in his ribcage at the thought that this Youngjae is alive only with him.

He mimics him and leans against the railings, grinning wide. “I won’t ever break, I won’t ever fall down,” he yells, Youngjae’s words from when he was sick resurfacing again. He glances at Youngjae, taking note of his suddenly pleasantly surprised expression and his grin widens even more if that was possible. “Even if I die, I’m not going to break!” he declares to the world. “Even if I die, I’m not going to give up!”

He turns to Youngjae, watching his eyes glisten and takes the initiative to wrap him in his arms. Even if they can’t actually see the end of the long tunnel and even if they can’t see the end of this long darkness, we will fly.

This is our one and only story, despite it being filled with memories of endless sweat and pain, even if this story tries to swallow me, Daehyun absent-mindedly fixes Youngjae’s messy hair. Even if you press down on us we’ll get up.

He thinks for a bit, before realising what he had yelled out in a spur of the moment was not gibberish—it slipped with such ease from his lips probably because he’s been holding it in his heart for so long… that even if I die, I won’t break. Even if I die, I won’t give up.

 

---

 

“Congratulations, Jung Daehyun!” the teacher announces, clapping in delight.

Daehyun looked positively like a fish, eyes bulging and gaping. The rest of the class had gone a deathly silent, jaws dropped in amazement. This is making history—Jung Daehyun scoring top of the class.

“A-are you s-sure?” Daehyun finally manages to croak out, pointing at himself, looking around the class. “M-me?”

“Yes,” the teacher replies, slightly impatient. “The in-class essay from three weeks ago, the free-style narrative writing one, remember?”

Daehyun couldn’t believe it. The last time he had to write an article… his D minus results had been ripped in his face and he wasn’t allowed on the school bus for six weeks.

“And no, there isn’t a mistake. The entire English faculty made the decision. The top of the grade for this common task with the exception of the accelerated English classes is indeed Jung Daehyun.”

There were harsh whispers flying around the room; “how could this be?” “what the ?” “how the hell—”

But Daehyun’s positively glowing. Youngjae would be so, so proud. See, Youngjae’s in the accelerated/extension classes for every subject.

“If you don’t believe it,” the teacher snaps before motioning at Daehyun. “Why don’t you hear the story yourselves?”

Daehyun gapes. “But Miss I—”

“What’s your story about, Daehyun-ah?”

“… a boy… who learns to face all his difficulties…”

The teacher looks highly unimpressed with his lack in ability to form a remotely decent synopsis.

Daehyun takes a breath. “W-well it’s about… how even though he falls down hundreds of times,” the conversation on the rooftop with Youngjae and shouting at the top of his lungs for the entire world to hear pops in his head and he takes another deep breath. “he keeps getting up, and that he clenched his jaws and sharped his wings when everyone said he would fail in the beginning. And even if he dies, he won’t break, even if he dies he won’t give up, and even if his wings are trampled in the darkness…”

 

---

 

“Daehyun hyung!” Junhong opens his front door wider, smiling brightly at him. “Hi! What’re you doing her—”

With a shy flourish, Daehyun pulls out something Junhong hasn’t seen in ages from behind his back.

Junhong falls silent, mouth dropping open as Daehyun hands him a perfectly intact skateboard, the varnished wood glinting under the afternoon sun and the surface clean with no footprints. His hands shake the slightest, gripping it tightly, wide eyes never leaving it. He runs his fingers over every inch of it, speechless for what seemed like a century to the nervously fidgeting Daehyun, playing with his fingers on Junhong’s doorstep.

It’s like Junhong’s finally convinced it’s a working skateboard when he spins a wheel, and he whips his head up to stare with his wide eyes at Daehyun.

“What—Why—When—How—” he blurts. “How did you… fix it??”

“I bought you another one.” Daehyun smiles shyly. “I’m really sorry, and I—”

“—hyung!” Junhong whines. “I thought you knew I forgave you ages ago!”

“I knew it was special to you though, don’t you deny that!”

Junhong huffs, before sending Daehyun a blindingly radiant smile. “Thank you Daehyun hyung.” He says sincerely. “Because now I have a skateboard from my hyung all over again.” He smiles.